The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,52
birthday entirely, while all along he’d planned on making this surprise appearance.
Deedee and Roy say their good-byes, taking a slice of cake home for Margaret. As they leave, Holly tries several times to rope Rick into conversation, but he shuts her down with one monosyllabic reply after another. Gregory leans in to inspect the painting closely, and I lose track of where Jed has gone. As for myself, I can’t take my eyes off Rick. I feel like I should say something, only I don’t know what.
Stay here. Don’t go back.
“You have to admit it’s pretty strange,” Holly is saying. “I’ve never heard of anyone living in a shed for a whole month.”
“Hmm,” Rick replies.
“I wonder what this thing is worth,” Gregory says. “You say she’s a famous painter? How much do her pieces go for?”
Holly again: “At least have some cake. You haven’t given up chocolate, have you?”
“Hmm, no.”
Tidying up, I glance through the sink window. The shed door is ajar, and Roy is standing guard out front, holding Margaret’s slice of cake. They didn’t leave after all. Deedee is taking this chance to inspect the hermit’s lair. Roy sees me and shrugs. As I watch, Deedee appears and the two of them creep home, leaving the shed door half open.
“Mom.”
Jed’s at my elbow, whispering in my ear.
“What is it?”
“There’s a girl upstairs. I was going up to my room and ran into her in the hallway. She locked herself in your bedroom.”
“That’s Sam,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
I leave Holly to interrogate Rick while my Marxist brother speculates on the value of art. Jed follows me up, breathing hard with excitement. First I go into his room, taking a pencil and paper from the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Watch and learn.”
I slide the paper under my bedroom door and use the pencil to push the old key out of the other side of the lock. It thumps to the ground. When I retrieve the paper, there’s the key.
“Cool,” Jed says.
“It’s all right, Sam. I’m coming in.”
I throw the door open, bracing for conflict. The bedsheets are rumpled, but there’s no one there.
“Sam?”
I peer into the closet, then get on my hands and knees to check under the bed.
“Mom, the window.”
Sure enough, the sash window stands open. I get there and lean outside just in time to see Sam shimmy to the ground and disappear behind the corner of the house.
“She’s going round back. Come on!”
“Mom,” he says. “Who’s this Sam?”
No time for explanations. I call down to Gregory, then run into him at the foot of the stairs. Holly and Rick look on in astonishment.
“She’s getting away,” I exclaim, feeling ridiculous.
We pour out into the backyard, looking for signs of the escaping girl.
From the far side of the stone wall, Deedee calls out, “She went in there.”
I follow her pointing finger to the now-closed door of Rick’s shed. Of course. I head for the door, but Rick grabs my arm.
“Let me.”
The first time he’s touched me since the night the Shaws came.
I stop in my tracks, letting him go ahead. He puts his hand on the doorknob, pauses to collect himself, then pushes through. The door closes behind him.
The rest of us gather in a crowd, watching and waiting. Deedee and Roy come and rejoin us.
“What do you think’s going on in there?” Gregory asks.
Jed leans toward me. “Who’s the girl, anyway?”
“It’s a junkie your mom brought home,” Holly says, which earns her a caustic look from Gregory.
“Home to live?” Jed asks.
Deedee laughs out loud. “This place is getting more and more interesting!”
A minute passes. The others lapse into conversation. I try to tune out the nervous chatter. I can’t even hear myself think. After five minutes, they fall silent again.
“It’s been a long time,” Roy says.
“You think he’s all right in there?”
Gregory sniffs. “You think he is?”
The door opens. We wait to see who will appear.
Sam emerges into the light. She blinks at the sky, her arms tightly coiled around her body like she’s cold. She takes a step toward us, recognizing Gregory.
“I want to go home,” she says.
“Are you all right?”
“I want to go home.”
“First thing in the morning,” he begins.
“Not in the morning. Now. I want to go now.”
“But—”
“You heard her,” I tell him.
Sam walks through our little crowd, which parts to let her pass. Gregory follows her. “I guess we’re leaving?”
“Call me when you get there, no matter how late.”
When he’s gone, I turn back toward the shed. The door is closed.